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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24994675">Do-Over</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainvontapdat/pseuds/captainvontapdat'>captainvontapdat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Humor, M/M, Magical Accidents, Second Chances, Wish Fulfillment, Young Mycroft Holmes/Young Greg Lestrade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:35:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,467</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24994675</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainvontapdat/pseuds/captainvontapdat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft and Greg have come to terms that at their current age in life, learning how to love again is incredibly difficult. </p><p>But sometimes life has a funny way of presenting second-chances.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Oh boy let me just preface this by saying that a) this is my very first Mystrade fanfic, b) this is my first fanfic that I've written in a VERY long time, and c) this hasn't been beta read at all.</p><p>Anyways, this fic is still a WIP and I hope to post at least once a week. If not, you can scold me over at my Tumblr @kapowabunga</p><p>Thanks for reading! :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re sulking and it’s distracting.”</p><p> </p><p>Mycroft finished his scotch before settling it down next to him on the side table. Unfortunately John was at the hospital and thus unable to tame his brother from his usual insults. “And what have you concluded, dear brother?”</p><p> </p><p>The younger Holmes leaned forward from his place at the opposite armchair and stared at him. “You’re sad because you just turned 45 and realized how lonely you are.” </p><p> </p><p>“You’ve known this for quite some time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, but this time you feel miserable.” At that Sherlock stood up and made his way towards the window and looked out of it. “I wonder what changed?”</p><p> </p><p>Mycroft couldn’t deny his brother’s deduction. Yes, the past two weeks have been somewhat harder on Mycroft from an emotional standpoint. How and why it happened, he wasn’t entirely sure. Anything that involved emotions was entirely foreign to Mycroft, but if the elder Holmes brother could pinpoint his quandary to a specific point in time, he suspected that it must have been during his birthday two weeks ago when he received an unexpected text from Detective Inspector Lestrade.</p><p> </p><p><em>Your wanker of a brother</em> <em>stole my fountain pen to give it to you as a bday gift. So I suppose happy bday then :) - GL</em></p><p> </p><p>Initially, Mycroft was annoyed at Sherlock. But soon annoyance was replaced with amusement, which was then replaced with elation that gave Mycroft a high that he hadn’t felt in a long time. But what goes up must come down and as his birthday passed and the week pressed on, Mycroft fell into an emotional rut. He still couldn’t understand why DI Lestrade’s text made him feel a certain way, especially since they’ve texted in the past. Maybe it was the humour of the situation or the use of a smiley face emoji, something that was introduced right then. The only thing Mycroft knew was that the emotional walls that he built throughout his entire life have been breached. And somehow, he felt threatened by it.</p><p> </p><p>He of course would never confide in Sherlock about this matter, lest he wanted to get an earful on how embarrassing it was to have some form of emotional connection to someone. Mycroft sighed. “As much as my intelligence supersedes that of the general population, I’m afraid that I am no exception to the so-called ‘midlife crisis’, Sherlock.”</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock huffed and turned his attention back to him. “Don’t lie to me. I know there’s someone involved. The question is: who is the one who can break my iceman of a brother?” </p><p> </p><p>His younger brother smirked at him and he knew that wherever this conversation was going, it wasn’t going to end well. Mycroft wasn’t going to sit around his brother’s flat to slowly watch him deduce his own personal life. He stood up and grabbed his belongings by the door. “Have a good day Sherlock.”</p><p> </p><p>As he opened the front door of the entrance, he could hear Sherlock’s faint reply from upstairs. “I will find out you know!”</p><p> </p><p>Mycroft shook his head. If Sherlock found out about his strange feelings for Lestrade he would never hear the last of it. Or worse, he would tell Lestrade and the nearly non-existent-working-relationship that he had built with the man would simply deteriorate. Maybe if he had stopped building those walls up long ago when he attended university, he would know how to cope with such things. But even then, some walls could not be easily torn down.</p><p> </p><p>Mycroft stepped outside, unphased by the chilly London air, and called for his car. As he waited for his ride, Mycroft noticed a dandelion protruding out of the cracks of the sidewalk. He found it strange that a dandelion was able to grow at the current spot and found it even stranger that it was able to grow in cold weather.</p><p> </p><p>Plucking it from the ground, Mycroft held the dandelion close to his face for closer inspection. It was surprisingly still intact with no damage done to the stem or the seed head. He remembered one of his nannies when he was younger telling him that you could make a wish by blowing on a dandelion. </p><p> </p><p>Out of pure boredom from waiting for the car, Mycroft whispered to himself. “I wish for a second chance at learning how to feel for others.” He blew the dandelion and the seed heads dispersed into the air, flying off into random directions.</p><p> </p><p>A few seconds later his car pulled up the curb and he stepped inside, enjoying the warm interior. As the vehicle made its way around London, Mycroft could still see the faint shape of a dandelion seed floating in the air.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Greg tightened the scarf around his neck, braving the wind chill that decided to pick up as he walked through the park. Despite the unbearably cold weather, dozens of Londoners stepped out to take advantage of the break in rain. He passed by a group of college students huddled around in a circle, smoking cigarettes and conversing loudly on what their plans would be for that night. Further down the walkway, an old man settled himself on a park bench and began sprinkling breadcrumbs to feed the pigeons. Slowly walking beside him was a young couple holding hands, the lack of conversation simply implying their enjoyment in one another’s company.</p><p> </p><p>Greg couldn’t help but smile as he saw the couple. Two men, both in their early 20s. He sometimes wondered what would’ve happened if he hadn’t married Trish and ended up with a bloke instead. At the time bisexuality wasn’t as well known and the idea of being attracted to both men and women made Greg self-conscious and scared that something was wrong with him. Thankfully as the years progressed, cultural views shifted and identifying as a bisexual became more common. Unfortunately for him though, by the time he came to terms with his own sexuality, Greg was stuck in a marriage of 20 years, the last 5 loveless.</p><p> </p><p>As his thoughts and demeanor started to get colder, so did the weather. Greg began to pick up his pace to reach his flat sooner and eventually decided to cut through the grass to shorten his travel time. As he walked through an unfamiliar portion of the park, Greg noticed an old wishing well standing in the middle of a small rose garden. Curiosity got the best of him, he had never seen a wishing well in real life before, and walked towards it. Several shiny coins were sitting in the bottom of the well, symbols of wishes that may or may not have been granted.</p><p> </p><p>Greg looked around, hoping that no one nearby was watching him. After all, how sad would it be to see a 48 year-old man make a wish? He fished out a two pence from his coat pocket and discreetly tossed it into the well.</p><p> </p><p>“I wish I can get a do-over please.” He muttered and heard the little splash. Content, he turned away from the well and continued on his way home. Greg knew it was going to be a stretch but sometimes it never hurt to have a little hope.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you're having a hard time envisioning what young Greg now looks like, you can use this picture of young Rupert as reference: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/18/a1/67/18a167caeaf455be67478ced38e18517.gif</p>
<p>And here the reference I'm using for young Mycroft: https://external-preview.redd.it/7y3voQh3mahy6BJZ_azXxoaTw3N2Ki4ldL1Ak9P27io.jpg?auto=webp&amp;s=a31e22ff7ca8a80a94d67956c4f1260938fb3e9c</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The first thing Greg noticed when he woke up the following day was that the pain in his lower back had disappeared completely. The second thing he noticed was that he felt energized and well-rested, which was something he hadn’t experienced in a long time. And the third thing, well, he didn’t notice it until a few minutes later.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The digital clock on his nightstand read 7:15am, which meant that he would need to get ready for work. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Greg rolled out of bed and headed towards the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. Just as he was washing his hands, he finally noticed his reflection in the mirror and completely froze.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“AHHHHHHHHHH!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Greg Lestrade he had grown to become, the one with gray hair and bags under his eyes, was suddenly replaced with the Greg from his 20s. His hair reverted back to its original dark brown color and styled in a way that he hadn’t seen since the mid-80s; short at the sides but considerably longer at the top. If he had to guess, it was almost as if he was 23 all over again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He brought his hands to the sides of his face and stared in disbelief at his own reflection. What on earth was going on? Things like deaging only existed in sci-fi or comedies. Never in his wildest dreams, or drunken stupor, could he imagine something like this happening. He pinched himself hard on the cheek, wincing in pain, hoping that he would wake up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nope. He was still young Greg. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oh god, so this </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> really happening. There was absolutely no way he was able to go into work today. How would he explain </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>to his team? </span>
  <em>
    <span>By the way guys I woke up like this so say hello to 23 year old Greg who is still your boss! </span>
  </em>
  <span>He hadn’t even considered going into the police force at that age.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No, he could not go into work. That was just asking for a lot of trouble and unwanted attention. Greg ran back into his room to fetch his phone and began calling Donovan.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s up, boss?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Donovan!” Oh no, even his voice changed. Reverting back to 23 also meant reverting back years of smoking that had turned his voice huskier and a bit deeper. As a result, his younger voice sounded higher and much lighter. Greg coughed, trying to hide any indication of his current condition, and forced himself to speak in a deeper voice. “I need to call out sick today. I think I caught something this past weekend.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah you sound different. I’ll let the chief know. Get better, boss!” She replied.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hung up and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows to his knees and hands on his face. What the hell was he going to do? He didn’t know how long he was going to stay like this. He didn’t even know how this happened in the first place. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Greg looked back at his phone and sighed. He didn’t want to resort to this and could already feel the annoyance creeping up on him, but there was only one other person who might have a clue on what was going on. He opened his recent messages and began texting Sherlock.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John sat at the table, quietly enjoying his tea while reviewing any notifications that might have gone through on his latest blog post, “The Pig Head Murders”. It was one of the latest cases he worked on alongside Sherlock involving a string of murders in northern England where the murderer made his victims where a decapitated pig head. It was straight out of a horror film but thankfully Sherlock was able to capture the murderer before any other lives were lost. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Just as he was about to take another sip of his tea, a series of loud knocks came from the front door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced at the time at the top right corner of his laptop screen. 7:42am.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Who in their right mind would visit him and Sherlock before 8? The knocking continued, this time with more urgency, and John made his way to open the door. “Alright, alright, I’m coming!”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as he opened the door, John was greeted by a tall young man in an oversized three piece suit. He couldn’t exactly place his finger on it, but there was something about the man’s cool demeanor that seemed almost entirely too familiar to him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The mysterious man began to talk. “Is my brother here?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait a second...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John gasped. “M-M-Mycroft?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, John.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft pushed past him to enter the flat and John couldn’t help but stare at the man before him. Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>older</span>
  </em>
  <span> brother, the man who could make and break countries at the snap of his fingers, was now a much younger version of himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John continued to stare at the elder Holmes brother. His dark auburn hair was a bit longer now with no signs of a receding hairline and his signature hair curl at the top of his forehead was still there. He also looked less tired, with the potential to be lively, and there was a subtle hint of rosiness on his cheeks. And despite the fact that the prospect of a young Mycroft Holmes could still scare the daylights out of John, his eyes were less cold and he could swear that there was a small hint of a twinkle in them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sherlock! You better get in here! NOW!” John yelled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He could hear Sherlock’s footsteps draw closer to the living room as he complained. “Oh for goodness sake, John. What now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was rare to see the consulting detective speechless as it was usually reserved for the most shocking and complex cases. John made a mental note to himself to mark this day, Monday, January 29, as a day when Sherlock was caught like a deer in the headlights. His flatmate stood there frozen, his eyes were the widest that John had ever witnessed, as he gaped at what he saw.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft simply looked at Sherlock and gave a small smile. “Hello little brother. Or should I say, big brother.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So I already have the next few chapters written up and I'll be posting them every other day. Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much for the comments and support! I really do appreciate each and every one of you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Mycroft stood uncomfortably in the middle of 221B. Both Sherlock and John sat at the couch before him, quietly observing him, as if he was some sort of </span>
  <em>
    <span>freak</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He couldn’t blame them. When he woke up that morning and saw himself in the mirror, he nearly screamed. The night before he was in his mid-40s and this morning he was in his 20s. Mycroft almost forgot how he looked back then - smooth face, no permanent frown, and thick hair. It was surreal to see his younger self, to be his younger self, again after many years of rejecting the many pleasures of his youth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The silence almost became unbearable, he no longer wanted to be the focus of some concern and hesitation. He exhaled. “Are any of you going to speak at some point or should I see myself out?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock immediately left the couch and invaded his personal space, examining him even more closely. “Fascinating, absolutely fascinating.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mockingly, Myroft replied. “That is probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, brother mine.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At that reply, Sherlock stepped back and sneered. Any form of niceties towards Mycroft simply would not do. “I’m not talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you idiot. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Sherlock waved his arm at Mycroft’s full figure, “this is unprecedented. We just saw each other yesterday. How did you manage to deage yourself? Is this some government experiment of yours? Are you trying to live longer?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would I want to stay on this boring earth longer than what is deemed necessary?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know. World domination? A reversal of Brexit?” John chimed in.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The latter is a possibility.” Mycroft said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock circled around him and continued his examination. “Everything about this is nonsensical. This defies the basic laws of biology! Anything and everything we know about human genetics is being challenged right here before us!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John quietly replied. “Maybe it isn’t science. What if, I don’t know, it’s just magic?” Both Holmes brothers turned their heads and stared incredulously at the doctor. The poor man looked down. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh don’t be stupid, John. This isn’t magic. Magic is meant to mislead the naive observer into believing the unimaginable. Magic is merely an illusion.” Sherlock grabbed a nearby pillow and smacked it at Mycroft’s head. “This is not an illusion.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ouch! Sherlock!” Mycroft rubbed the side of his head. Oh how he hated being the younger brother at this very moment. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John stood up from the couch and joined Sherlock in observing his youthful appearance, much to the government official’s dismay. “I’m a man of science but even sometimes science can’t explain everything.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well what do you think it is then?” The elder Holmes brother asked. He was getting quite agitated at the lack of progress being made upon his arrival at Sherlock and John’s flat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have either of you seen </span>
  <em>
    <span>Big</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock and Mycroft stood in silence, confused at what John was referencing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, I forgot. Abnormal childhood.” The doctor paused before continuing. “Anyway, the main character, a kid, makes a wish that he wants to be big. His wish is granted and he wakes up the next morning as an adult.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And your point is?” Sherlock asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know, it looks like Mycroft is experiencing a reverse version of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Big</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Maybe he made a wish and it turned him younger.” John answered and directed his attention to him. “Did you make a wish recently, Mycroft?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The elder Holmes brother, or formerly-elder Holmes brother, turned his focus away from the two men. What was he going to tell them? So </span>
  <em>
    <span>remember how you noticed that I was being a miserable fool yesterday? Well out of sheer boredom I made a wish on a dandelion so that way I can learn how to sort out my lack of emotional comprehension. How that wish relates to me deaging 20+ years, I absolutely don’t know. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His younger, or currently older, brother answered for him instead. “Mycroft doesn’t make wishes. He doesn’t even wish me a happy birthday.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I do wish you a happy birthday, Sherlock. You just refuse to acknowledge it.” Mycroft couldn’t be more thankful for Sherlock’s petty insult. Now he didn’t have to answer John’s question. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The doctor was persistent however. “I don’t know Mycroft, this obviously happened for a reason. Wasn’t your birthday a few weeks ago? Did you not make a wish when you blew out the candles?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft was about to explain how he refused to get a cake for his birthday and instead spent it inside his office preventing a trade war from happening when they all heard a loud knock from the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock huffed and stomped towards the door. “Oh who could it be this time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as he opened it, a young man immediately bursted inside, trying to catch his breath. His disheveled dark brown hair indicated that he must have ran all the way here.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, Sherlock, do you ever check your phone? I sent you 10 texts within the past 30 minutes.” The young man spoke to Sherlock as if he was a close friend. “Something is wrong with me, mate. I don’t even know how it’s possible but look at me now! I’m 25 years younger!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The more Mycroft observed the young man, the more he couldn’t believe it. The man had dark brown hair and was dressed in a black shirt, dark jeans, and leather jacket, all of which appeared a bit too dated for him. Yet despite the outfit, Mycroft looked at the man’s face and knew those dark brown eyes like the back of his hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Detective Inspector?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The young man noticed his presence, confused at first, but then his eyes widened in shock as he realized who called for him. “Mycroft?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Out of the corner of his eyes Mycroft could tell John was about to faint while his brother continued to stand by the doorway, taking in the entire scene that was unfolding before him. In the end, Sherlock just groaned at the absurdity of it all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh for fuck’s sake.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Once again, thank you to everyone reading this story! Like I said before, I haven't written a fanfic in a LONG time (6 years) and this is definitely the longest one I've written so far. Enjoy the latest chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was only 8:30am and Greg was already on his second glass of scotch. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Here he was, sitting in Sherlock and John’s flat on a Monday morning, 25 years younger than normal, while Sherlock was trying to help John regain consciousness after the poor sod fainted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And to top it all off, Mycroft Holmes appeared to be a victim as well.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Greg barely recognized Mycroft at first. For some apparent reason, it was hard to imagine what a young Mycroft could possibly look like. Were his eyes still harsh? Did he still frown? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All his preconceived notions went out the window when he saw the man before him. His cheeks had a tint of rosiness to them and his eyes were more lively than what he was normally accustomed to. His hair was thicker and somewhat wavy, styled in a way that it was swept to one side with his signature hair curl falling on his forehead. If Greg had to be honest with himself, he actually found this baby-faced, less intimidating version of Mycroft quite charming. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft shifted in his seat on the couch and Greg quickly glanced at him. He appeared uncomfortable. Or maybe nervous? He felt bad for the man.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So how old are you supposed to be now?” Greg asked, trying to break the ice. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Intuition tells me that at this very moment, I’m 20. You?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“23.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two men continued to sit in silence, trying to digest everything that just happened. Both men woke up today 25 years younger. Both men decided to visit Sherlock for answers. Now both men are sitting in each other’s company still confused as ever.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This time it was Mycroft who broke the silence. “I don’t suppose you made a wish just recently.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Greg looked back at him, surprised. “Yeah, how did you know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I believe the reason why I’m in this current condition is because I made a wish yesterday.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think we can just make another wish to get us back to normal?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t see why not.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Upon the realization, both men stood and left the flat immediately, leaving Sherlock with the burden of trying to wake up his flatmate by splashing water to his face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you make your wish?” Mycroft asked as soon as they were on the street.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Found a wishing well in a park and dropped a two pence. How ‘bout you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Blew on a dandelion. If we return to the park, you can make your wish at the well and I can find myself a dandelion.” Mycroft said, calculating the necessary steps needed to reverse their current situation. “Lead the way, Inspector.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Greg was ready to walk ahead but stopped in his tracks. “Wait, wouldn’t it be faster if you just called your driver?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft looked at him as if he was the biggest idiot on earth. “Sure, let me just call my driver to take us to the park. He certainly won’t question why I currently look like this.” Yup, it was the same Mycroft alright.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then how the hell did you get here in the first place?” Greg asked. He noticed the man turn his head away in shame.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I had to take a cab.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After 15 minutes of walking, Greg successfully led them to the park.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay so I found the wishing well right over-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He paused, and looked at the area before him. Greg could’ve sworn that this was the same exact area that he stumbled upon yesterday - a rose garden with a wishing well in the middle. Today, it was nothing but grass. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But- but, it was just here! I swear I saw the well here!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Greg began to panic. How the hell was he supposed to turn back to normal? He felt Mycroft’s hand rest upon his shoulder, trying to calm him down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, if we find a dandelion we can use that to make another wish.” He said reassuringly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Like everything Mycroft said to him prior to today’s fiasco, Greg wasn’t buying it. “I don’t think dandelions grow in the winter, Mycroft.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The younger man moved past him and began to examine closely at the fauna around him. “We’re at a park, Inspector. How hard could it be?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>5 hours later</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stupid shit, fucking, twat, dandelions!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Greg turned his attention immediately to Mycroft, who was already losing it. Unlike his older counterpart, younger Mycroft’s patience was much less forgiving. Still, Greg never heard Mycroft curse at all before today and as he saw the man start crawling on the grass, dirtying up his suit and trying to find the faintest sign of a dandelion, Greg couldn’t help himself but bark out laughing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s so funny?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I’m sorry, I can’t-” Greg had to hold his stomach as he continued to laugh, “I can’t believe the great Mycroft Holmes is getting down and dirty just to find a stupid flower.” At this point tears were starting to form on his face. He probably should have pulled out his cell phone to record this for future blackmailing purposes before he interrupted the man.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft scrunched up his face. “It’s not funny. We could be stuck like this. Forever.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Greg’s laughter started to die down as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just, you’d think we’d be happy that we’re young again, you know? We could do the stupid things that we wanted to do when we were in our 20s.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I may be 20, Detective Inspector, but I still have the wisdom and experience of my 45 year old self.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“At this point just call me Greg. When I was 23 I didn’t even know what a Detective Inspector did.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Greg.” Mycroft repeated. He always knew the man’s name but saying it out loud was like saying a prayer, something that conveyed so much meaning to him. He looked at his companion, who, despite being in the same predicament as he was, was now taking in the situation with stride.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was like a cruel joke sent from the heavens just to spite him. The source of Mycroft’s troubles was here with him, in the flesh, in all his boyish charm and glory. If Mycroft felt uneasy at the thought of older Greg, he was on an entirely new level of discomfort around younger Greg. Mycroft couldn’t even deny it at this point on how incredibly handsome young Greg was. It was almost annoying how the other man could just easily breathe, not knowing at the same time that he could take Mycroft’s breath away. If Greg was the sun, then Mycroft was Icarus; the closer he got to him, the harsher the burn and the longer the fall. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You alright there, mate? You seem distracted.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft reeled himself from his thoughts. Greg was looking at him, his soft brown eyes showing concern. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe, for once in my life, I don’t know what to do next.” He said quietly. He wasn’t quite sure if he was addressing their current situation or his feelings for the man.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He almost jolted in surprise when Greg wrapped his arms around him in an embrace. The feeling of Greg’s warm hands near the top of his back immediately comforted him. “It’s okay, Mycroft. We’ll figure this out together.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Upon hearing his voice, Mycroft’s arms instinctively returned the man’s hug.</span>
</p>
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